


Demons

by WritingWren



Series: Mother Hens of Marmora 'verse [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Again, Angst, Fluff, Past Child Abuse, dads of marmora, fighting your demons, keith's dads are all super protective as always, mentions of child abuse, remember ma and pa?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingWren/pseuds/WritingWren
Summary: Time to fight your demons and worst fears, paladins! (all in a training simulation, of course)





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> This is a monster. Not only because it's almost 8500 words but also because I struggled so much with it. There's a lot of outside POVs in this and writing them was really hard. 
> 
> Many thanks again to paladin-pile, not only for the au this time but for general help when I was struggling and proof-reading, too (and telling me it was okay to post, because I almost didn't)!
> 
> Enjoy~

Every once in a while the paladins have to undergo special training. Mostly it’s simulations to improve their teamwork, though it’s much, much better than it used to be. The days of the beginning when they didn’t trust each other to have their backs are long gone and their communication during battles is smooth, honed in many real fights. But just to make sure, to stay on that level or even improve -because there’s always room to improve- Allura and Coran write new programs every now and then, just to challenge them.

“So what’s different about this one?” Lance asks, because Allura has made a bit of a secret out of it, and because for some reason she called them all to the training deck for the big reveal.

“Yeah,” Pidge chimes in. “Isn’t it just another simulation? Is it a team or a single player one?”

“It is both,” Allura replies. “This…” She pauses. “Is a simulation to fight yourself, paladins. Your inner demons and biggest fears, so Zarkon can not use them against you. Nobody can know what exactly it will show you, except for yourself -if you know yourself well enough.”

“And… where is the teamwork in that?” Hunk asks, confused.

“Somebody has to stay with you,” Coran explains. “In case there is a malfunction. And they will see whatever you see on that monitor right over there!” He beams as if that was the best news he’s ever delivered. “So you have to choose a teammate to stay with you.”

“I choose Hunk!” Pidge shouts, quick like a shot.

There’s some chaos after that, everybody trying to secure a partner, everybody talking across each other -but there’s five of them, so somebody will have to do two rounds of this at least.

Shiro crosses his arms, looking serious and thoughtful as always. “I’m not going to choose one of you,” he says, effectively silencing and earning himself surprised looks from all of them. “We’re a team,” he explains. “I’m not going to choose, we’re in this together. For my turn, you can all stay; I have nothing to hide.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, the other paladins looking down.

“Shiro’s right,” Keith says eventually. “We shouldn’t just choose one. That’s only going to divide us, and that’s not what this is about.”

The others murmur their agreement.

“Sorry, guys.” Pidge scratches the back of her head sheepishly. “I started that… I should’ve thought first, I guess…”

“It’s okay, Pidge,” Shiro reassures her, smiling. “It’s a difficult decision to make when it means the others will see your deepest fears…”

“Congratulations, paladins!” Coran exclaims in that moment, beaming proudly.

Lance blinks. “What for?”

“For passing the first half of the test,” Allura smiles. “We wanted to see if you would trust each other -and not only one, but all of the others- for this…”

“Oh great,” Hunk groans, “Isn’t the nightmare-simulation-part enough already?” He pauses, thinking. “And didn’t just Shiro pass that? He was the only one who didn’t try to choose…”

Allura hums. “Think about it, Hunk. Yes, you all started out having the wrong idea; but Shiro, as your leader, well… led you back onto the right path, and you all followed. You made that decision together, as a team, so I’d say that, yes, you have all passed.”

“Well, that’s a way to see it…”

Coran opens his arms invitingly, as if this was a ride in an amusement park, and beams. “So, who’s going first?”

“Anybody?” Shiro asks, when after a moment nobody has come forward. “Alright then, I guess I will-“

“I’m going,” Pidge cuts him off. “I want to get it over with.”

Shiro smiles. “Alright.”

She grabs the helmet Coran hands her, sits down with her legs crossed, mutters, “Here goes nothing,” and puts it on.

*

Darkness. There’s a floor beneath her feet but it’s pitch black. The only light is coming from countless doors, a little lamp above each one.

That’s really a lot of doors. Possibilities, her mind whispers, a lot of possibilities. Which one to take? She can’t just take a random one; this has to be thought through. But they’re all looking the same, with absolutely no differences and there’s no hints at anything. Do they all lead to the same place? Different ones? Is one more dangerous than the other?

“Think, Pidge, think,” she mutters to herself. Takes a closer look at the doors, presses her ear against them, but nothing helps, and she doesn’t hear anything, either. When she reaches the point where she can’t do anything else, she realizes that she has no other option than taking a leap into the unknown and choose a random door.

The scene changes, and she’s on a Galra ship (she thinks). She swears under her breath and ducks behind a corner, praying that there’s no guard around. This is stealth, she’s good at this. Just don’t get noticed. She’s better at hiding than at fighting, and if she can choose, she’ll always choose the former. If this is a Galra ship, chances are -since this is her simulation- that her brother and father are here, too.

She has to find them.

She’s pretty sure they have cells for prisoners here, so she starts searching for that, makes her way through the corridors, ducking behind corners when there’s guards, her heart beating faster with every minute because if she’s caught here it’s over. This would be so much easier if she had her tech with her, but she doesn’t even have her armor. She’ll have to make do without it.

Then there’s the first scream. Matt. This was Matt. Her heart stops for a second and starts beating at twice the speed. There’s another scream and she follows it, blindly, until she reaches what has to be the cell tract. Most of them are empty when she looks through the little windows in the doors, until-

“Matt!”

He’s there, he’s really _right here_ and this is not a simulation anymore, the way her heart and her entire body ache is real and there’s tears in her eyes but she wipes them away; there’ll be time for that later.

“Katie?” He sounds disbelieving, and how could he not? The last time he saw her was back on earth. “What happened to your hair?”

The sound that escapes her is as much a sob as it is a laugh. “Long story,” she says. “I’ll get you out of here first and we’ll talk later.”

Which is when another voice calls out from two cells over. “Pidge?” It’s Hunk and she can’t believe this. They’re all in that cell; Shiro, Keith, Lance and Hunk.

“What are you _doing_ here?” she asks.

“We got caught when you ran off to search for your family,” Hunk says and, wow, did she really do that? She wishes she couldn’t believe she’d do something like that, but sadly enough she can. “We can’t form Voltron without you and there were just too many of them.” His eyes water. “But I’m so glad you came back, I knew you’d come for us. We’re a team, right?”

“Pidge, you need to hurry,” Shiro urges. “There’s no time, the guards are going to come back soon!”

“Katie?” Matt calls out from the other cell. “Katie, _please_ you have to get me out of here! They’re going to kill me! _Please,_ you have to come back!” He’s pleading and there’s no time and she needs to choose now or she’ll lose them all and _why are there stupid tears, dammit_ she can’t work if she can’t see! Her heart is beating so fast by now it hurts; her ribcage might just burst at this rate.

She makes her way over to Matt’s cell.

“Oh thank god! Katie, please, you just have to open the door, c’mon, Kitty-Kate, before they come back!”

And ouch, this hurts, hearing her old (very much hated but now welcome) nickname from him, especially at what she has to do. But she’ll look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, Matt,” she says. “I promise I’ll come back for you and get you, just you wait.”

And she can see all hope leaving him, his shoulders sagging and her heart breaks, but the lion chose her for a reason, and her team needs her. So she ignores Matt’s begging, his pleas, as best as she can and turns to free her team.

The next moment she’s back in the castle, her cheeks wet and her hands shaking, and for a moment nobody says a word. Then she suddenly has an armful of Hunk and… is he crying? “You chose us!” he sobs. “You chose us!”

Pidge looks down. She wants to tell him that it was just a simulation after all, but for a moment there it wasn’t and it still feels as if she just left her brother behind. “I thought it was odd,” she admits instead, her voice hollow. “That Matt wouldn’t tell me to get away, to safety. And… you guys are my friends, and you needed me, and the universe needs _us_ and-“

A warm, heavy hand on her shoulder stops her rambling. “You don’t need to justify yourself, Pidge,” Shiro says. “We all know how you feel about your family. But you came back in the beginning, when you had left already, and I trust you to do the right thing. We’re going to find your brother and father together; you’re not on your own.”

And that does it. The tears she’s been holding back spill over and she just cries into Shiro’s shoulder for a good few minutes before Lance asks from the back, “So… did you guys hear her brother call Pidge _Kitty-Kate,_ too, or was that just me?”

“Shut up, Lance.” Keith punches his shoulder. “You’re ruining the bonding moment.”

They all need to take a break after that; Allura gives them 15 Doboshes and they go sit in the common room for a while. Hunk is still not letting go of Pidge, but at least he has stopped crying. Nobody is talking, either, but it’s the kind of shared silence that’s not suffocating or awkward at all. When it’s time to get back Pidge seems fine, more or less. At least her hands have stopped shaking.

Once they’re back on the training deck, Hunk steps forward, swallowing. “I’ll go next,” he says. “I really don’t want to but I guess if I have to I’ll do it rather sooner than later.” Like Pidge, he takes the helmet, sits down on the floor and takes a deep breath before putting it on.

*

He’s back at the space mall, without his armor but wearing an apron. He looks around and realizes he’s back in Vrepit Sal’s diner, an endless stream of customers as he cooks and hands out the food, a chorus of “Chef Hunk! Chef Hunk!” in the back. Hunk loves cooking. He loves seeing all those happy people eating his food, and, yes, he loves the chanting, too.

“Guys?” he says, looking at the ceiling. “I think this thing is malfunctioning. I’m scared of a lot of things, but this is not one of them…”

“Whom are you talking to?” Sal asks, handing him a new stack of orders. “Less soliloquies, more cooking!”

Going against authorities is an actual thing Hunk really isn’t good at -might be scared of, even- so he does as he’s told. But nothing changes, and he just keeps cooking, dishing out food until the last guest has left.

“Good work,” Sal says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Hunk raises a hand. “Um, Sal, sir, I’ll probably not be here tomorrow…”

“What,” Sal bellows, “You’re getting sick again?” He narrows his eyes. “You don’t look sick to me.”

“N-No, I just, uh, I need to get back to my team… sir…”

The Galra does not look amused. In fact, his smile is sharp and cruel, and his eyes are cold. “What team,” he asks, and his voice has changed, sharp like his smile and colder than his eyes. “Did you forget that you abandoned them in your fear? You were scared, and turned your back on them to pursue a different career -and don’t you love cooking? Your days are filled with happiness and cheering, what do you care about the ones you left behind? You did not care when the great emperor Zarkon,” He makes a fist over his heart at saying that name, “took them out one by one, why would you care now all of a sudden?”

Hunk pales and stumbles backwards. “N-No…” he whispers. “No, I didn’t, I can’t have-“

“You did,” Sal says cruelly. “You only care about yourself, and as long as you work for me and remain harmless and not a threat, the great emperor Zarkon,” he makes a fist over his heart again, “Emperor of all Galaxies and ruler of the whole universe, will let you remain free, unlike the other paladins. You do not want to end up like your glorious leader, do you? I heard he was injured during his last fight in the pit, maybe he will die now. His next fight might be his last; I’ll definitely have to go and watch it. The end of the Champion is the end of an era after all…”

No. Nononono this can’t be. Hunk wouldn’t- He’s scared easily, yes, a lot of things scare him, but he would _never-_ Would he? Sal just told him he did, and why would he lie? Hunk can not even stand up to this man who looks larger than life to him right now. He’s a coward, always has been. He has long since forgotten that this is just a simulation, having lost himself in a full day of cooking and the shocking news paralyzing him.

Sal takes Hunk’s silence as agreement, he has stopped arguing after all, and nods, satisfied. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says again. He turns to leave. “And if you try to call in sick when you’re not, I’ll fire you and you’ll be imprisioned like the rest of those useless fools.” A hum. ”Though I heard news they at least managed to make use of that green paladin’s brain. They’re already working on new technologies based on that one’s knowledge… And the red one _was_ some fine entertainment in the pits… And the blue one, of course, makes a fine pet for the emperor.”

Hunk is scared easily, yes. A lot of things scare him. And it scares him that he should’ve been the one to betray his comrades like that, just because he was overwhelmed by his fear again. Sal scares him, right now. This kitchen scares him, feeling too small and restricting, suffocating, all of a sudden. He’s scared of Zarkon, too. His palms are sweaty, his knees shake and he can’t find his voice, and when he does it’s raw and hoarse, and not firm as he’d like it to be. But through the fear he speaks.

“Don’t talk about my friends like that,” he says, quietly, and Sal turns back to him, blinking.

“What did you just say?” he asks, just as quietly but dangerously so.

“I said don’t talk about them like that,” Hunk replies, louder. He straightens up, makes himself bigger -he is big, after all. Not just tall but chunky. He is strong, even though he so easily forgets. He can be a rock, a mountain if he wants to. “They’re the best people I know,” he continues, taking a step forward and Sal doesn’t look that big anymore. “They take me as I am.” Another step. Sal takes one back. “Even though I’m always scared. Even though I’m a crybaby. And I would never.” Another step and he is nose to nose with Sal. “ _Ever_.” He puts a hand on Sal’s chest, pushes him away. “Betray them like that.” And it’s true, he realizes. He’s scared so often, but he would never turn his back on his friends. He might have been scared of that until now, too, and it’s a little funny, in an absurd way, that it took this weird talk to Sal for him to realize that even if he does love cooking, it’s the part where he’s cooking _for his friends_ that makes him happy.

And with that he’s back on the floor of the training deck, breathing heavily as he pulls off that wicked helmet. He looks at Shiro. “Never,” he says, promises. “Never, never, ever would I do that. I swear. I wouldn’t -ever -I wouldn’t-“

“We know that, man,” Lance interrupts, smiling. He points at himself with his signature grin. “And this sharpshooter has your back, buddy.”

“As does the rest of the team,” Shiro adds.

 Hunk is so relieved he wants to cry, but he manages not to, somehow. He definitely needs a break, though, so they all go to sit in the common room for another 15 Doboshes.

Lance picks up the helmet next. “I’m _so_ gonna beat Keith,” he says, sits down and puts it on.

*

When he opens his eyes he doesn’t know where he is. His armor is gone, and when he looks around there’s that kind of… mist… all around.

“…Hellooo…?” he calls out after a while, when nothing has happened yet. “Anybody here?” He frowns. “Is this working right?” He squints at the mist when he thinks there might be a figure coming closer, only a shadow at first, then a silhouette, then a person, and-

“Me?”

The other Lance smiles, and there’s something off about him. Apart from being _another Lance_ , because there’s only one Lance McClain. He looks -feels- like a predator; and Lance is his prey. He’s wearing the same clothes, too, but the blue seems colder somehow, just as his eyes.

“Of course,” he says, and even his voice is off, though Lance can’t tell exactly _how_. “Who else would come for you? Who else do you think cares?”

“Hey! There’s a lot of people who care about me, okay?!”

The Other laughs a cruel, cold laugh that isn’t like Lance’s at all. “Who?” he asks.

“My- My family! I bet they’re searching for me. But once I’m home and they see that I’m a hero, I bet they’ll be happy.”

The Other just laughs again. “Your family -or should I rather say _our_ family? I’m you, Lance. I know you, better than anybody else. I know your fears. I know how justified they are… And do you want to know a secret? Your family is not even searching for you. They _didn_ _’_ _t even realize you are gone._ And who could blame them? There’s just so many kids, your parents simply didn’t notice there’s one less. You’re _nothing special_ , Lance, and the sooner you get that into your head, the better.”

“But… my team! They’re definitely gonna come for me!”

“Oh _please_ ,” the Other replies. “Your precious _team_ is probably glad you’re gone. You’re just an annoyance to them. You’re not worthy of being a part of this team. You’re not worthy of being a paladin. What makes you even _think_ you could be a part of _any_ team when there’s nothing you can contribute to it? It’s a coincidence the blue lion even chose you. I guess even ancient space lions can make mistakes.”

Lance wants to disagree, but this is himself and he can’t really, because all of that are things he’s thought about before.

“I know that you’ve thought about this before,” the Other says triumphantly. “All of them have a thing, haven’t they? Shiro is the… what did you call it? _Awesome leader_. His thing is keeping the team together, having a plan B for when plan A fails and a plan C just in case; always calm and never losing his composure. Pidge is smart. Intelligent. She’s a magician when it comes to tech and she’s a stealth expert, too. Hunk is big, and strong, and he can fix about anything, and he’s an amazing cook to boot. He’s a leg Voltron can stand on, unlike you. And Keith. You can play “rivals” all you want, but you’re not even close to his league. You should just accept that he’s all you’ve ever wanted to be and will never accomplish; at the end of the day you’re a cargo pilot and he’s a real one and that will never change.”

Lance swallows. “I’ll never…”

The Other’s smile is cold and cruel. “Yes. You’ll never be special. You’ll never be worthy. You’ll never be like _them_. The sooner you accept that the better.”

He’ll never be like them. Lance swallows again; closes his eyes, takes a deep breath as if he was aiming at a target, about to shoot.

“Yes. _Yes._ ” There’s malicious glee in the Other’s voice. “Just give up. Accept it. Cry, if you want to; I know you do that at night anyway.”

But when Lance opens his eyes he’s smiling, and for the first time the Other looks unsure.

“You’re right,” the blue paladin says. “I’m not like them. I’ll never be like them. I’m not Shiro, or Pidge, or Hunk or Keith. We don’t need a second one of either of them, because they’re already there and they’re all _awesome_. But I’m me,” A grin. “And we all know there’s only one Lance McClain. And even though I don’t know what my thing is yet, apart from the sharpshooter-thing, doesn’t mean I don’t _have_ one. And that Blue chose me? That was no coincidence. You say you are me, why can’t you feel her then? Because I do, and I’ve never even felt so much as a hint of remorse or regret from her. So… Whatever you are, go back to where you’ve come from, because you’re not _me_ for sure.”

That seems to have done the trick. The other Lance that wasn’t Lance dissolves into thin air together with the mist, everything fades into black and the real -the one and only- Lance opens his eyes back on the training deck.

“Dude,” Hunk says. “I didn’t know you thought like that… You know we don’t think that, right? You’re a part of the team like anybody else…”

Pidge nods. “Yeah… I’m kinda sorry for a few of the things I said now…”

Lance clears his throat. “Thanks, guys… New rule, though. We’re not talking about this, like, ever again.”

They do take another break, though, and then it’s only Keith and Shiro left.

“Do you wanna go first?” the younger paladin asks. It’s rather a _can you go first_ , though, and Shiro, bless him, understands.

“Sure,” he says and puts on the helmet like the others did before.

*

He isn’t surprised to find himself back in a cell very similar to the one he was kept in back when he was a captive of the Galra. He takes a closer look in the dim light and finds too familiar markings; this is not just any cell, it’s _that_ one. Of course his armor is gone. Shiro knows with a certainty he can not even explain himself that this is not before Voltron. He has made a wrong call as their leader and has failed them all, all of them captured and their lions in Zarkon’s hands. He doesn’t know where the others have been brought. He’s not even sure about what happened to Allura, Coran and the castle and he hates it, not knowing, not being in control, not able to make sure everyone is safe.   

Shiro sits on the floor for an indefinite amount of time before he can hear heavy steps coming closer. These are different from the guards making their rounds about every 30 minutes. Shiro tenses, hoping that they’re not coming for him, but of course he’s not that lucky. He’s blinded when the door opens and for a few seconds he only sees a dark shadow looming over him.

“Up,” the shadow growls and pulls him roughly to his feet. His hands are still free; odd. Usually cuffing him is the first thing they do when they come for him. “We’re going to have a little talk, Champion.” It’s Sendak, he realizes, which explains the carelessness -with or without his hands bound, he could never run from him. Especially not in the state he’s in after the lost battle.

The Galra pulls him along to the -now empty- arena and throws him to the ground, but Shiro manages to catch himself and gets back to his feet. Sendak smiles coldly, his triumph in his eyes and the way he holds himself as he circles Shiro predatorily. He does like his mindgames and Shiro is one of his favorite playthings.

“What a small world we live in,” he says eventually. “We’ve started here, and now we’ve come full circle… We must truly be meant to be here, like this. Me, in control, and you, a slave. All as it should be…” he trails off, pauses for a moment, then asks, “Say, did you really think you had killed me back then, when you ejected me into space?”

Shiro didn’t know, back then. He could never be sure, isn’t sure if that’s what he even wanted and the truth is, he never thought about it that much. It had felt liberating in the moment, and afterwards there was just too much happening at once to think about Sendak anymore. He remains silent and the Galra continues.

“Well, I think we ought to have a little chat anyway. Just to make sure you know your place, since you seem to have forgotten.” The kick to the back of his knees comes sudden. Shiro has been half expecting it sooner or later, but it hits him unprepared anyway. He goes down to his knees, his hands behind his back without a conscious thought in a movement that has become a habit during the time of his captivity.  

“So you haven’t forgotten all of it, then.” Sendak sounds pleased. “You haven’t forgotten what you truly are… Once a slave, always a slave. You may have played “paladin” for a little while, but now you’re back where you belong and I’ll have none of it, understood?”

Shiro stays silent still, defiantly. Yet he can not deny that he’s had thoughts along the same lines before, in the privacy of his own mind. About how he’s tainted, not truly free anymore even though he escaped. It’s as Sendak said: Once a slave, always a slave. He is different from the rest of the team in this regard; and how presumptuous is it for someone like him to become the _leader_ of a team that fights for freedom? And it was true in the end, wasn’t it, look at where Shiro’s leadership has gotten them.

“I can see you thinking,” Sendak gleefully comments from somewhere out of Shiro’s sight. “And don’t get me wrong, I _so_ do like to see you suffer, but,” Out of nowhere there’s the Galra’s artificial hand around his throat, sending electroshocks through his entire body; he’d scream, but only can make a strangled, gurgling sound. His nerve endings are on fire and he’s breathing heavily when finally, after what feels like ages but was probably no more than a few seconds, the hand is taken away. “But,” Sendak continues, “I did ask you a question, and you might have forgotten that little detail, but if I ask you a question you answer, _slave_.”

“Sorry,” Shiro croaks, smirking. “What’s the question again?”

There’s more pain after that. Shiro knows that might very well only be the beginning of a long, long day, but he’s not going to back down, not going to give in. No matter what he thinks of himself.

Before anything more can happen, though, the scene changes. Shiro is alone in the arena, lights blinding him for a short moment. The deafening roar that is a thousand shouts from a thousand people in the audience is a sound he will probably never forget, and he knows what it means. He knows he can not run, either. He didn’t become the Champion, didn’t survive in here, because he ran. He’s survived because he won, and because he entertained. That’s all this is, after all. Entertainment.

He doesn’t like it at all, hates it with a passion, actually, but he doesn’t have a choice. He doesn’t get any more time to think after that, the door on the other side of the arena opening and his opponent coming in. Or rather, opponents. He can’t really see them clearly, just that all four of them are armed, but Shiro is, too. He transforms his arm into a sword and lets his instincts take over, attacking first because that’s the most important rule here. He doesn’t think but reacts, the audience sounding muted. Until, when he sends the smallest one flying, there’s a moment when Shiro blinks and it looks like an image interference on a defective monitor, and he can _see_ and it’s _Pidge_. The others are there, too, now, and _good god_ he has been fighting his _teammates_ , has probably hurt them, and they all look so desperate, trying to call out to him, to get him to stop and he didn’t even realize.

They can’t just stop fighting now, though, there’s a thousand people, a thousand enemies, watching, a thousand potential threats. But he’s not going to fight them, either. He’s going to get them out of here and if it’s the last thing he does. No matter what he thinks of himself sometimes, he is their leader because they chose him, because Black chose him, and he’s only their leader because they follow. And he’s not going to disappoint them; he needs a plan and fast.

He closes in on Pidge, as if he was pursuing her, and almost flinches at the fear he sees in her eyes, but he keeps calm and winks at her, and she looks like she wants to cry, because she understands. Shiro clashes with all of them after that, whenever they’re close enough to understand each other over the roaring from the ranks of spectators telling them what they’re going to do. Apologizing will have to come later.

He's going to defeat all of them. Not really, but it has to look like it. Then, once it is over, the doors to the arena are going to open; someone will come to escort Shiro back to his cell and take away the losers of the fight and that’s going to be their chance to get out of here. They will not expect the others to get up more or less unaffected and Shiro and the others can use the short moment of their captors’ confusion to escape. Which might not sound like a very good or promising plan, but it’s the best they have, so they go through with it.

It works better than anticipated. In the end Shiro is the last one standing, his breathing heavy but not as heavy as he lets on -the more they underestimate him, the better- and the doors to the arena open. This part is tricky; Shiro has to call the shots because the other’s are playing unconscious and can’t see, so all they can do is wait for his sign. He waits for the right moment, until the guards are close enough and shouts, “NOW!”

He trusts his team to have his back and doesn’t wait for them, running towards the guards and taking the first one down before anybody can react. In the next second Keith is to his right, Lance to his left and Pidge and Hunk follow behind. They take down the few guards that are left and are out of the door before anybody can close it, and the world is a bit of a blur after that.

And then, just like that, he’s back on the training deck, looking into the surprised faces of his comrades.

“That was… intense. And scary. Definitely scary,” Hunk says after a moment.

“I didn’t understand half of it,” Lance confesses.

“I think there was a lot more to it than what we actually saw.” Pidge.

Keith just exchanges a look with Shiro and the older paladin thinks he might understand; at least more than the others.

During their last break, after about ten minutes, Keith slinks away to look for his pack. Luckily for him they’re all in their room; (something Keith has started calling their Den because, let’s be honest, they’re a pack, and they’ve got a _nest_. So.) Ulaz looks up when Keith comes in.

“You are distressed,” he remarks and comes over to nuzzle him.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, “well, I saw some distressing things today.” He tells them about the simulation, not the details about the other’s visions but what it’s about, so they have a gist. By the end of it the others have sat down in the nest with him and Antok looks like he’d rather pull Keith into his lap right away.

“So now you’ve come to us…” Thace starts.

“To ask if you’d, maybe, come along for my turn? Or one of you…?” Keith finishes his sentence. He doesn’t know how to ask for their company any better, but he knows _them_ , and they’ll get it. He looks at Antok. “Remember that dream I told you about? That might come up, too…”

Antok hums. “I see… Of course I’ll come along, youngling.” He nuzzles Keith and gets a purr in return.

“We all will,” Kolivan adds, and nobody even wants to object.

So it is with all of his pack that Keith turns up back at the training deck when it’s his turn to face his demons. Nobody here objects, either; they accept his choice of wanting to include not only his team, his friends, but also his pack. Keith sits down with crossed legs like the others did before and puts on the helmet without another word.

*

He’s back in his shack; alone, of course. It’s small, but empty and now that he knows what _home_ feels like, it’s cold, too. He used to like it out here, back when he didn’t have people who cared about him and whom he cared about in return. Nothing happens, it’s just him and the silence, laying over everything like a thick blanket, so Keith sits down on the couch that’s his bed at the same time and waits for something to happen. He feels a sting at the thought that this might be the life he’s going to go back to after they defeat Zarkon. He doesn’t want to go back to this. Truth is, he doesn’t even miss earth that much, simply because there’s nothing apart from this dingy shack waiting for him.  

He shakes his head to banish those unwanted thoughts, sighing and looking over to the window when he sees the face. It’s just eyes and a top of unruly, dark hair, a kid, and the eyes widen a little and the face disappears, the kid ducking, probably. Something about that kid is very, very familiar to him. He goes outside -it’s even hotter here than in the shack- and around the shack, where the kid is still sitting beneath his window. And it’s not just any kid; it’s him. He can’t be older than eleven, he thinks. Little Keith pales, and Older Keith can see the purple mark on his jaw clearly, now, and the split lip that’s bled on his shirt a little.

“Keith?” he asks, and the kid tenses but looks up defiantly.

“What?” And then, after a short pause, narrowing his eyes, “Are you… me?”

Keith nods, as surreal as this is. “Yeah,” he replies. “I guess I am.”

“Weird…”

Keith sighs a little. “Hey, if you’re here, wanna come inside? I’ll give you some ice for that bruise.”

Little Keith crosses his arms. “Why?”

“Because… I’m you, so I’m actually treating my own injury.”

“If you’re me, tell me something a stranger couldn’t know,” little Keith demands.

A hum. “How old are you right now?”

“Ten…”

Keith nods, grim. “Then you got that bruise from Ma and Pa. Is this from the time they punished you because the lady of the Child Services heard the weird noises you make sometimes?”

Little Keith pales and swallows. “You know about…”

“Yes,” Keith nods again. “I do. I’ve been there. Good enough to trust me?”

“I don’t trust anybody,” little Keith huffs. “I’m not stupid.” He pauses, biting his lip. “But… You’re really gonna help me?” He sounds desperate for _anybody_ to help, and Keith knows he is, from his own experience. He leads the way inside and tells little Keith to sit on the couch-slash-bed while he goes over to the small kitchenette and opens the fridge, getting out an ice pack and wrapping it up in a dish towel before handing it to little him, who snatches it from his hand and retreats to the far end of the couch. He sits down with him, minding his distance because he knows just how jumpy he used to be around people back when he was ten, _especially_ when he was ten.

Little Keith looks around with big eyes, gaze straying back to the older version of himself every now and then to make sure he stays where he is. “Do you really live here?” he asks after a while, and Keith nods.

“Yeah,” he replies and little Keith makes a quiet sound Keith now recognizes as a Galra one, but for once he doesn’t seem to notice he made it (Keith remembers being very aware of them, but he guesses meeting the older you is a good enough excuse to forget for a little while).

“That’s _so_ cool,” little him says. “Do you live here all alone? I wish I could live like that already…”

Keith doesn’t, at least not anymore. He wishes his pack was here, or his friends, or, preferably, both, even though he isn’t sure they’d all fit into his shack. But little him doesn’t know any of that yet; little him only knows being moved from one family to the other and the abuse from Ma and Pa, so he lets it go for now.

“Do you have other injuries?” he asks instead; knowing that, yes, little him does, but leaving him the choice of telling him. Ten year old him is wary, and he needs to tread carefully. Little Keith looks at him, narrows his eyes a little, thinks, and eventually nods.

“Pa used the belt this time so my back is a mess. And they kicked me; I think one of my ribs might be cracked,” he mutters.

Keith remembers that, and nods. He stands and gets some bandages, his first aid kit and another towel that he wets in the sink. He sits down on the couch and motions for little Keith to come a little closer. “Let me take a look,” he says.

Little him looks wary, but complies after a moment, wincing a little when he moves. The first thing Keith does is dabbing at little Keith’s lip with the towel, cleaning away the blood. Once he’s done with that and little him has relaxed at least some, he helps him get his shirt off and takes a look at his back. It’s black and blue, not a single patch of unmarred skin left, and he bites back the worried whine and starts gently applying some arnica cream instead. He just wishes someone had done that for him back when it really happened, but nobody cared at the time. Done with that, he feels for his ribs, the sharp intake of breath telling him that at least one has to be broken. Not that he didn’t know that already. Hurt like a bitch back when he was ten. He expertly wraps the bandages around little Keith’s torso, tight enough to make breathing easier and help the broken bone heal, and helps him back into his shirt.

“Thanks…” little him mutters, looking away.

“You’re welcome.” He pauses. “You know, you won’t have to stay with them much longer. And you’re going to find people who care.”

Little Keith huffs. “Yeah, sure.” There’s a moment of silence, then he adds, “Wait, don’t tell me you got attached. That’s bad. People suck, they’re just gonna leave you and then it’ll hurt, did you forget that?”

Keith sighs. “It’s complicated,” he says.

“No it’s not! It’s easy! Don’t get attached, then it won’t hurt when they see how weird you are and they decide they don’t want you anymore!” A little sound escapes him, a Galra whine that actually tugs at Keith’s heartstrings. Little him clasps both hands over his mouth, his cheeks pink, and ducks his head, but before he can say anything Keith himself has returned a low, reassuring rumble that makes little Keith’s eyes widen.

“You’re still making the weird sounds,” he whispers.

“It’s not weird,” Keith explains. In this moment he understands why Thace so often ruffles his hair; he’d really like to do that right now. Or pull him into his lap like Antok does. But he doesn’t, because little him, just like big him, would probably flip his shit. “It’s because you -we- are half Galra.” He tells him about Voltron, about his team, about Galra and Alteans and about the _good_ Galra, about his pack and how he’s a part of Voltron now, too, and strangely enough little him doesn’t doubt his story for a second. But he doubts something else.

“They’re still gonna abandon you,” he says. “Once you’ve defeated that Zarkon guy the others will go back to their families and you’ll have to come back here, and you’ll be alone again, and it’ll hurt because you’ve become attached to all of them.”

Which is something Keith has been thinking about a lot lately, has been fearing, but he still shakes his head, stubborn. “They won’t,” he says.

“Yes they will. Even if they don’t want to, they can’t come to earth with you, can they? You’re going to be on your own again, because nobody _really_ wants you.”

And that, right there, is Keith’s biggest fear. It’s a feeling he can’t fully shake off, not after being abandoned so often, and he understands little him, he really does.

“If they won’t abandon you, then where are they? I don’t see any of them. I bet they left you behind already. You should get over it, you’re meant to be alone. That’s just how it is,” little Keith continues, and ouch. “You’re stupid for letting people close,” he adds.

But Keith has something little Keith doesn’t, knows something more. Remembers strong arms pulling him close _that night_ , a low growl next to his ear, “Never.” and he believes Antok with a certainty that surprises even himself.

“No, I’m not,” he replies, even though a shred of doubt remains. “I know that you don’t know yet, but you will sometime. Believe me.”

“You’re really stupid,” little Keith frowns. “I don’t want to grow up to be like you!” He stands and runs from the house, and the moment he’s out of the door everything blurs and Keith is back on the training deck. He frowns.

“Does that… mean I passed?” he asks, confused, because he isn’t really sure this counts but he’s _tired_ anyway.

Coran twists his beard and hums, undeterred. “You all passed,” he says, cheerfully as always. If you didn’t it wouldn’t have ended as smoothly as this. So whatever you did, congratulations, paladins, you all did exceptionally this first time!”

“Wait, first time?” Hunk pales. “No way I’m going through that again!”

There’s a bit of an argument about how they’ll have to do it again, but Keith doesn’t really listen. He catches a look from Kolivan and knows he’s in for a Talk now. He murmurs a goodnight to the rest of the team and makes his way back to the Den with his pack; he can’t complain now, he did ask them to come along. Truth is, he needed to tell them and didn’t know how else to do it.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Keith is pulled into the nest, surrounded by warmth, quiet huffs and grumbles the only sounds in the room for a while.

“We’re not going to just leave you behind once Zarkon is defeated, youngling,” Kolivan finally says and Keith makes a quiet whine, because he _wants_ to believe that, and he does, on some level, but -well, there’s still _but_.

“Never,” Antok repeats what he said that night, nuzzling him when he whines, and Thace chimes in,

“How could we? You’re a part of the pack. You belong with us.”

“But- You can’t come to earth with me, and I can’t stay here… can I?” Keith finally voices what’s been bothering him and Antok growls but it’s Ulaz who speaks.

“We’ll work something out, youngling. We’re not going to abandon you no. Matter. What.”

And somehow that last shred of doubt flickers and disappears, and Keith didn’t know he was tense but he realizes he was when he relaxes now. He makes a relieved, little sound that’s met by reassuring growls and rumbles, and after that there’s no more talking but a lot of cuddling and nuzzling.

He’s dozing lightly, not really sleeping, when Antok speaks up. “Keith?” he asks. He only gets a sleepy hum in response but Keith is listening. “We still need to talk about that other thing…”

Keith wakes a little more and opens one eye, glancing up at him. “What’s that?”

Antok’s voice is strained, as if he was biting back a growl -one of those that are angry and protective at the same time. “Those people,” he says. “Ma and Pa?” Keith tenses at their names and there’s a series of quiet rumbles until he settles again.

“The injuries,” Ulaz adds, and Keith sighs.

“That was long ago,” he says.

“Tell us anyway?” Thace prods.

There’s a moment of silence while Keith thinks about where to start. “You guys know that I was with a lot foster families… And most of them were nice people, even though they just couldn’t handle me. So… I really was with _a lot_ of foster families, and even more often I was sent back into the system. Ma and Pa… that was one of the last places I lived before I got into the Garrison. They’d taken in a lot of kids of all ages because on earth you get money if you take in foster kids so you can buy them food and clothes, such things. Just that they didn’t, they took most of the money for themselves, ignored us most of the time and hit us when we got in the way.”

There’s a strangled sound from Thace and a low growl from Antok; Keith nuzzles Thace and purrs reassuringly at Antok before he continues. “It was okay, most of the time, if you managed to lay low. But… well, by the time I got to them I was ten, I’d been in the system for years, for as long as I could remember, and I had that, ah, rebellious streak, because I didn’t really want to stay with people anymore, not if they’d get rid of me after a few weeks or months anyway. I was kind of a trouble maker, _and_ I was making those weird noises sometimes, so I got it more often than the others.”

He pauses, organizing his thoughts. “Sometimes there were check-ups, from the people who ran the system, to make sure the children were alright. Ma and Pa were really good at putting on a show those days; so nobody suspected anything. And all the children played along because they were scared. Anyway, because I was a trouble maker they didn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut, so they locked me up in the broom cupboard -that’s a really small room or a big cupboard or whatever, where they kept the cleaning supplies. But I made one of those weird sounds, a Galra one but I didn’t know back then and I couldn’t really control it.” Which, he knows now, basically means that he was so starved of touch and affection that he instinctively tried to call out to his parents; that’s something _really bad_ for Galra, and he needs to take a moment of purring, nuzzling and rumbling until the others have calmed down enough that he can continue.

“The lady who did the check-up noticed, and she got them to open the cupboard. Ma and Pa tried to play it down and managed to convince her that it was just an accident, but once she was gone they were really mad. Those injuries,” He clears his throat. “That happened afterwards. They hit me, split my lip, then kicked me and cracked my rib in the process before Pa got out his belt and beat me black and blue. That’s it, mostly.”

“Was there at least someone to treat your injuries?” Ulaz asks, and Keith snorts.

“Who would have cared?” he retorts. “I was on my own at that place, and the other kids didn’t want anything to do with me because I was weird and so they could stay in Ma and Pa’s good books.”

There’s a second of complete silence, then two, three, before Antok _growls_. Keith has never heard him make such a sound before; it sounds terrifying even though he knows it’s not directed at him, and he whines quietly before he even realizes he did. Antok takes a deep breath and pulls Keith into his lap, fingers automatically starting to card through his hair in a soothing motion, but it’s Kolivan who speaks.

“Once this is all over,” he says, with just as much repressed anger in his voice as Antok, “we are going to find a place to live. That shack is definitely not sufficient. And we are going to visit those people and have a Talk.” Every one of them can hear the finality and the capital T in that. This “talk” is going to involve a lot more than just plain talking. If Keith wasn’t so damn tired, and so sleepy with Antok petting his hair like that, he might look forward to that Talk. But as it is the others’ voices become a steady background noise as they keep making plans for that special day which, together with Antok’s hand in his hair, lulls him to sleep -this time for good.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are always appreciated!   
> There's also some comments I didn't reply to yet, but I didn't forget you guys! Buuut it's 3am and I really need sleep, so I'll do this tomorrow. I've probably said it before but I'm really grateful for all the comments, the kind words, the kudos...


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